Page 35 of Tainted Serenity

A collective term that is not nearly enough to describe the whirlwind of emotions acting like a hurricane inside my broken soul. Pain cannot comprehend what I feel. What is even pain when there are things,words, much worse than a mere injury or illness?

Devastation.

Widespread destruction of something damaged, leaving only grief and ruins in its wake. Those are two emotions with the same implication, yet mean different things. One is more severe than the other, and what lies within my broken soul is something of devastation.

Like a ship, my emotions are traveling through my body before the boat sinks, bathing me in blood and never-ending destruction. I’m a man stuck on this sinking ship, shackled to the pillar in the middle without a way out. Soon, I will probably drown in my own blood. What a macabre sight. Guilt fills me when I think about the appeal of drowning, how welcome it would be to finally let go, to let the breath leave my body until I no longer have to suffer through more.

Blood rushes in my ears, like an annoying buzzing sound that refuses to stop ringing, causing my head to ache and soar. The sound taunts me, mixing along with my brother’s voice that fills my head now when no one can distract the demons inside me.

I’m all alone inside the empty basement room. That is the difference between Dankworth Institute and this place. At least there I had friends who all helped keep just a fracture of my sanity in place. Now, the haunting truth is that I am left alone in my own solitude.

This is your fault. You are the reason Naya is probably dead.

“She isn’t fucking dead!” I scream out, grabbing my hair as I rip a hair strand out, letting the brief pain in my scalp fade away.

My brother taunts my mind ever since Emilio Ricci revealed that he was the one who betrayed me. He tossed me to the wolves, leaving me to fight for myself inside the predator’s den, not knowing I am a fucking predator myself. Put predators together in the same cage, and all you will receive is utter destruction.

With a loud sigh, I stand up on my feet, wobbling as I gain my balance after having sat down for hours upon hours. Everything around me is buzzing, taunting my mind until the rage comes and washes away everything else with huge waves.

Every second I am not with her is another second where I want to kill everything and everyone in my path until nothing remains but her and I, standing in the ashes of everyone else.

One way or another, I will make that happen.

A deafening noise echoes through the room, ripping at my eardrums until the buzzing sound gets replaced by an even louder, blaring cacophony.

“Get up.”

Arthur’s voice resonates around me, but I can’t see him anywhere. It takes me a while for my tired body to realize that he’s not even in the room with me, but he’s talking through the speaker that sits in one corner of the room. The blaring ceases.

“Get up,” his voice repeats.

I do as he says, my weak body struggling to rise. Arthur and his minion of guard are fucking me up, making me do their bidding for their own pleasure. I feel like a mouse ensnared in a mousetrap, waiting for it to finally kill me. Despite every part of me crumbling apart, I have to play the submissive role right to get on his good side.

I have to do it forher.

“Good boy.”

I grit my teeth at his praise that makes my skin crawl, glaring at the camera that sits right beside the speaker, knowing he can see everything I do.

Without warning, the room becomes lit up in multiple colors, flaring and causing my eyes to blink, until it settles on one. The wall in front of me displays something I cannot yet decipher, but it looks a lot like a movie coming from the projector in the ceiling above me.

While still standing, I lean against the wall, feeling a subtle throbbing pain against my head. Hurting my head is the only thing that silences the demons that are wreaking havoc inside my mind, toying with me as if I’m their puppet rather than their master. Precisely like Arthur does. I wait for whatever is on the projector to reveal itself, trembling throughout my body, and the adrenaline feels like it’s the only thing that keeps me alive at the moment.

I can’t fucking stand the monster roaring within me, telling me to do something I will regret, but it’s nowhere near the pain Arthur and his guards caused me.

Bloodied and broken, here I am, discarded like trash when I am not in use. His disgusting games, leaving me to wither with my own mind, letting it destroy me before he has the chance to.

I’m still aching from what he did last week when he hung me to that torture machine that stretched my arms until they felt like they would shred. Every part of me is bruised; not a single part is left unscathed.

It was only a few hours ago when he gave me food, stepping on my healing broken fingers, making me hide the scream threatening to tear me apart. Now I sit here, pretending as if the pain isn’t overwhelming me when it in fact is.

The loud screeching sound reverberates through the room once more, making my body coil from the shivers it causes. Like nails against a chalkboard, it makes me internally cringe.

The wall in front of me illuminates a sharper image of the movie, giving a better view of the pink forming a room. A sense of safety emanates from it, giving an inviting and ethereal feeling. I can almost imagine how many people would add this to their Pinterest boards as inspiration for decorating.

A heavy feeling settles inside me, like a gut instinct telling me to turn away and never look back. It is impossible to move; my muscles paralyzed from this feeling that glues my feet to the cold floor.

The room bursts with personality, adorned with striking colors and furniture many would deem unfit, and the double-sized bed in the middle of the room is encircled with white pillows. It reminds me of Dankworth Institute and their rooms with padded walls, designed to protect the patients from physical harm, even though the institute caused mental anguish. I shudder at the memory when I spent one night there before meeting my little doll. It was right after the authorities had caught me at the crime scene of my parents, deeming me unfit to stay in society and in need of proper psychiatric help. Little did they know that Dankworth Institute only made me worse.

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